


the glint of light on broken glass

by Tat_Tat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Knotting, Mild Blood, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: Moira is the type who sees the clear white line and it’s not that she doesn’t see anything else, she’s fully aware of the consequences - and that’s what bothers Angela. That Moira knows when to stop- but won’t.Moira pays Angela an unwelcome visit.





	the glint of light on broken glass

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my first Moicy fic but as soon as I got the idea for 'The Unexpurgated Log of Moira O’Deorain', I put this on hold to write that. This fic is a bit more light hearted than the last one.
> 
> Contains penis in vagina penetration, knotting, rough sex, and enthusiastic consent.

“In my defense,” Moira says, eyes aglint, “the moon was full and I was unsupervised.”

“I’m surprised you can speak with that on,” Angela says, referring to the muzzle. Moira's arms, long and covered in fur, are tied behind her back with silver chains. 

Satisfied that Moira isn’t going anywhere, Angela turns to the mess she'd made and sighs. Another long night, and it's the one night she doesn’t have homework due the next morning. She tells herself she should have known she wouldn’t get any sleep. It’s a full moon after all, and Moira’s instincts often take her to Angela’s apartment.

“Whose night was it to watch you?” Angela asks, clucking her tongue as she picks up a broken vase and the flowers that were in it. There’s a damp spot on the carpet. She’s relieved it’s water from the vase.

“Amelie, I believe,” Moira says, simpering.

“Then no one.” The French exchange student is known for neglecting her shifts, and even when she is there with Moira, she doesn’t make an effort to keep her from running off in the streets. 

Moira stretches awkwardly in her restraints, lying on the floor on her side as leisurely as she can. “You should watch me every night. You already do.” Her voice lilts, like a purr, strange coming from a canine. 

“That defeats the point of the watch and you know it.”

There’s a reason why Moira breaks out of her dorm to come to Angela’s. The first time, Angela woke to drool falling on her face, dripping off sharp fangs, Moira a towering beast over her body. Hunger, Angela had assumed it was, until she felt something hard press against her thigh.

Of course, it wasn’t enough that Moira intervened with her life at school and her club activities. She has to bother her in the middle of the night too. Moira had played with wolf genomes, and while it was her mistake, Angela feels like she’s paying the price.

Presently, she is cleaning Moira’s mess. In the past, she rescued her from the back of an animal control van, and once helped free her head after it was stuck in a fence for three hours. Often Angela treats her wounds, commenting that she’s going to college to be a doctor-- not a vet.

Moira is ambitious, which makes being her friend difficult and her girlfriend a chore. 

Angela had broken up with her because their relationship had interfered with her studies, yet Moira is still here in her living room, still making things difficult. And Angela can’t bring herself to give up on her, taking a spot on the floor next to her and quietly stroking her back.

Angela has never asked Moira why she experimented on herself. “Because I wanted to see if I could,” she assumes Moira will say, as she often does. And this isn’t the first time Moira has tested something on herself, and it won’t be the last, she’s sure. 

Moira is the type who sees the clear white goal line. It’s not that she doesn’t see anything else; she’s fully aware of the consequences-- and that’s what bothers Angela. Moira knows when to stop-- but won’t. 

She worries about her more than she should. She misses her more than she should.

Slowly, Angela lays herself across Moira’s body and presses her face into her neck. Her head is light and she feels like she’s falling somewhere dark just to reach the other woman. For once, she understands Moira and doesn’t care.

She takes the muzzle off.

Moira’s lips spread in delight. Her sharp teeth poke out and graze Angela’s hands as she reaches to stroke her face. She’s careful with her teeth, Angela notices. 

She notices a lot things about Moira, now that she’s allowed herself to think about it. She notices that Moira has a wild smell to her now. She used to smell like the aftermath of a storm, like rolling fog and sparks and something faintly chemical. Now she smells like clay and wet grass. That sharp crinkle of electricity… that smell is gone but a current still runs through Angela’s core, just from being close to her, touching her, breathing her in...

She thinks about doing something she’s not ready to do. She thinks about the phallus throbbing against her leg and her cheeks bloom red. Moira, always eager to show off the fruits of her labor, has not been shy about sharing the changes her body has gone through since the experimentation with wolf genomes. She’s mentioned-- maybe not entirely off-handedly-- to Angela that her penis developed a bulbus glandis (a “knot”) after her first transformation.

“Isn’t it grand?” Moira’s breath is humid, whispering the temptation in her ear.

Angela’s heart quickens. She’s caught, she’s--

Not going to give her the satisfaction.

She slips away from Moira to finish cleaning. When she’s done, Moira is pretending to be asleep. Angela actually goes to sleep on the couch. It’s uncomfortable but she feels compelled to be close to Moira, who is too heavy to carry.

In sleep, Angela dreams about being pinned down, all teeth at her throat and anguish in her fists. She dreams about a long tongue dragging up her abdomen, moist breath warming her skin. She braces herself as her practiced control is wrenched away from her and cries, relieved of the burden. 

Her legs fall open for Moira, who asks her, claws skimming her sides, if this is what she wants.

Before she can answer, the light breaks through her living room window, waking her. The dream stays with her, like a ghost, like Moira. 

Moira is completely human again and lying on her living room floor in the nude. 

Angela gets up and stretches. She doesn't expect Moira to be awake yet and passes her to reach the kitchen, but a hand wraps around her ankle, tethering her to the spot.

“Allow me,” Moira says, wide awake. Angela wonders how long she has been awake, waiting for her to rise from the couch.

“To...?”

“You were going to make breakfast, were you not?”

“Coffee, but--” She pauses, warming up to the idea. “What are you going to make?” she asks as she bends down to free Moira from the silver restraints.

Moira stretches, testing out the freedom she’s regained. “Pancakes?”

“Waffles.”

“Very well.” 

Angela catches herself staring as Moira goes into the kitchen, then chases after her with an apron so she can at least cover herself.

X

While Moira cooks downstairs, waffle and egg smell wafting heavenly upwards, Angela pours through her closet for something that Moira can borrow. There are few options. Whenever Moira has worn Angela’s pants in the past, they magically transform into capris and always require a belt to keep them to her trim waistline.

And of course all of Angela’s pants are in the dirty laundry anyway, leaving oversized t-shirts from fundraisers and a honey-hued wrap skirt that is knee-length on Angela but will undoubtedly skirt Moira’s ass.

In the end, Angela accepts that’s what Moira will have to wear unless someone is kind enough to pick her clothes up at her dorm room.

She sets aside a clean razor and a jar of coconut oil next to the clothes, then rejoins her in the kitchen.

X

Over breakfast they talk and for a moment it’s almost like they’re dating again, except Moira mentions, “Have you ever wondered why I always come to you when I transform?”

Angela rolls her eyes and Moira smirks like she’s read her mind.

“The reason is not vulgar, like you’ve assumed.”

Angela thinks about last night, Moira’s sex hard and pressed against her thigh, leaking pre-cum. “What else could it be?” 

“That only happens once I’m close to you, when I smell your excitement, dear Angela.”

Angela drops her fork to cross her arms and she fumes when Moira chuckles. She always hated it when the other woman was right-- and she often is. But sometimes... she’s not and that’s why they stopped dating, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

She isn’t sure, mind in a haze, still thinking about last night and the dream she woke from, and Moira at her table. Moira, who made her breakfast and poured her coffee just the way she likes it. Has Moira always been this thoughtful? She wonders, but she gives Moira the benefit of the doubt and throws her a bone. 

“If it’s not that, then why am I the only person you come to?”

“We have an established bond, Angela. That pulls is always there, but it becomes instinctual, pressing when I transform. I can’t help but want to be close to you.”

“Like a dog with her master,” Angela teases.

Moira arches a brow with cool agitation and sips her coffee. 

“Werewolf, I know,” Angela says.

And then the table is quiet. Angela finishes the rest of her waffles smothered in syrup that Moira has spiked with a tablespoon of Irish cream liquor. Angela chews, both on her food and something that is nagging at her, something she’s afraid to admit.

“I’ve thought about it,” she finally says, wondering just how much liquor Moira added to the syrup. Enough to excuse this slip of the tongue?

“About what?” 

‘Nothing,’ Angela almost says, but Moira looks at her, and the way the sunlight bounces off her eyes, making them glint, echoes how she looked at Angela last night, which makes her stall, which causes Moira to grow more curious.

“Trying again,” Angela cautiously finishes.

Moira’s brows raise, a crinkle of intrigue or hope sparking in the corners of her eyes. “Have you?”

“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’” 

“No, I’m surprised.” 

“Wirklich?”

“Once your mind is set on something, you rarely change it. I suspected that was why you had broken up with me. I’m just as stubborn as you are.”

“There were a couple of reasons,” Angela tentatively says, afraid of souring the mood, or whatever is happening now.

“As there always are. Do you want to talk about it?”

There is something unnerving about how Moira is cool, welcoming the constructive criticism.

“It doesn't bother you-- what I might say?”

“It will bother me if we don't try.”

Angela almost starts by saying that Moira was a distraction, but she realizes that’s not true. They’ve always worked wonderfully together. She misses the silence of Moira’s company, back when they wrote their papers and worked on their homework in the same room. Lately, Angela hasn’t been productive, and she blamed Moira for that too.

It was so easy to blame her when she didn’t want to admit she herself was the cause.

Moira watches her inquisitively as she gathers her thoughts and the pluck to voice the real reasons. 

“You worry me,” she finally says, clutching her coffee cup for its warmth.

“I knew,” Moira admits. “But you don’t have to. I’m not like the others. I never expected you to watch over me.”

“I can’t help it-- and I know you know that too.”

Moira nods, quiet and contemplative. 

“And you’re relentless,” Angela continues. Often, she’s wondered how far Moira will go to reach her goals, and the recent experiment with wolf genomes was answer enough. “You do have limits, don’t you?”

“I’ve yet to find mine.”

Angela’s fingers tense and she bites her lip. “And that’s what worries me.”

Steeped in silence, Moira waits for her to speak more, and when she doesn’t, she gets up to pour fresh brew into their cups.

“Everyone has their limits. The fact that I haven’t found mine yet doesn’t exempt me.” 

“Mein Gott, I hope so.” 

Moira smiles. “Well, I may have found one. You’ll find it obvious.”

“And that is?”

“Men.”

Angela almost spits out her coffee, and after choking it down finally submits to a fit of laughter.

Moira gently chuckles. The deep rumble of her voice stills Angela’s laughter. 

Decisively, she leans across the table to kiss her. It’s sloppy and indirect and her cup spills over in the process, but Moira catches the cup and kisses her right back.

X

It’s almost five in the evening and Moira has yet to put on the clothes Angela left out for her this morning. Only the shaving razor has been touched.

Angela runs her fingers along Moira’s strong jawline. She’s waiting to regret her decision, but the thought doesn’t come. 

Moira catches her finger between her teeth and tugs. She takes all of Angela’s fingers in her mouth and sucks on them. She must taste herself there, Angela thinks.

Angela casually wraps a leg around her waist, and glancing at the clock, the moon, she purses her lips thoughtfully.

Finally, she says, high on marathon sex, “I want to try it.”

Moira looks over her shoulder, where the moon is only just faintly glimmering behind a veil of clouds, not yet fully present… They might have twenty minutes left.

“Do you?” Moira asks. 

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” she mumbles quietly. Self-consciously she tucks one of many loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear.

“This will be the first time you see me transform. I must warn you, it’s not pleasant to watch.”

“I figured as much.” 

Moira, who is almost always eager to share her discoveries, has never mentioned the process of her transformation, and Angela is keenly aware why that is. It’s painful.

“You don’t have to watch.”

“I want to be there for you this time.” Angela squeezes her and they’re both consciously aware of how the room has darkened. The moon glimmers, silver and encroaching. Moira’s hair stands on end and she grits her teeth. She’s snarling.

The pull of the moon quickly takes hold of her and Angela hisses as sharp-taloned nails bear into her back for support. 

“Moira,” she whispers into a chest that is swiftly covered in fur. Her back feels wet, and gradually, as Moira’s growling subsides, the nails retract from her backside.

Moira licks the blood off her nails-- or are they claws?-- and tells Angela it’s over. 

Angela is relieved. Her back aches.

“Turn around if you can,” Moira asks of her and Angela obliges. A long tongue drags from bottom to top of her backside, licking the blood off her until there is nothing but the raised welts of scratch marks.

Angela turns to face her, kisses the corner of her mouth. It’s awkward but they make it work, uncaring of how cumbersome it is. Moira’s teeth prick her skin, a teasing, gentle press. Angela gasps, stirring the hair covering her face.

They move languidly, the opposite of how Angela imagined they would. She thinks maybe if they hadn’t fucked from morning to evening (with breaks for snacking and idle chatter), Moira would be more ferocious and herself more frantic, pulling herself on top of her. 

But that doesn’t happen-- not just yet. Angela explores this aspect of Moira, this primal persona recently born. Her girlfriend’s erogenous zones are different in this form. They seem to be everywhere. Moira’s phallus twitches insistently, and for a moment Angela graces her with a pleasing touch-- only to soon take it away.

That riles Moira up. She snarls and gripes at her.

“Am I your vice?” Angela coos, hissing slightly as Moira squeezes her arm as if to confirm.

Their eyes lock as Angela continues to struggle, tacitly continues to encourage this behavior. Moira’s grasp is unyielding, and in one swift movement she rolls on top of Angela and holds her arms over her head. 

Angela cants her hips, not to entice-- to throw her off. She grins, since after all it’s in playful jest. 

“Where would you run little rabbit, if I set you free?” Moira holds her by the chin and squeezes. It hurts. Angela bears it, crying out.

Moira lords over her and waits out her struggling until her energy expires. She leans close, teeth and claws skimming skin, reminding her of how easily she could be ripped to shreds. Then Moira whispers, voice warped and sharp, “I’m going to fuck you.”

And then, Moira thrusts inside her all at once. She taunts Angela, tells her that she’s so wet and worn out that there was no resistance at all. Angela moans underneath her, agreeable.

“You won’t be able to walk after this.”

Angela blinks from her daze and lifts her head up slightly, smiling brightly. “Promise?”

Moira laughs, shaking her head. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”

“You can wonder later.” Angela says and uses what strength she has left to fold a leg around Moira’s waist, a suggestion. “Where were we?”

Moira leans into her face, growling. She licks the perspiration off her brow, her neck. Then she draws back and pistons her hips with a violence. Overstimulated, Angela shouts. She bites her lip. She bites Moira, but Moira bites back. The breath she's been holding in her lungs escapes her, and Moira slows her thrusts, waiting for her to catch her breath.

“Keep going,” Angela whispers hoarsely. She closes her eyes and lets herself unravel.

And she realizes, feeling a pronounced pressure against her G-spot, that she forgot the knot. 

She winces as it stretches her. Her cunt reflexively bears down on it and she shakes. “Mein Gott, Moira, I’m--” 

Moira chuckles, in the same headspace as Angela. She licks her cheek and thrusts again, as if she can get any deeper inside of her. 

They remain in that position, in repose, lazily kissing, nuzzling. The slightest movement almost brings Angela to the edge. She’s not sure if she can handle another orgasm and earnestly pleads to Moira, “Please... I don’t think I can...”

Moira is almost tempted to test that. Angela can see the challenge reflected in her eyes.

But she doesn’t push Angela beyond her limits. Perhaps that is where Moira draws the line.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this.


End file.
